Where nightlife research has engaged with the topic of race, it has drawn attention to racial and ethnic exclusion (*Böse 2005; *Measham and Hadfield 2009; *Rigakos 2008; *Talbot and Böse 2007). This article uncovers something different, by exploring how commercial thinking is now the driving force behind the inclusion of Black individuals at night. Situated within a white, provincial county called “Greenshire,” the research outlines how venue managers strategically host “urban nights” with drill and grime music played to attract Black nighttime revelers. Where Black consumers were once declined, they are now reconfigured as a source of income accumulation on otherwise quiet weeknights. This is not to say that the persistence of racism and discrimination identified in previous nightlife research has been reduced (*Søgaard 2014, 2017; *Talbot 2009, 2011; *Talbot and Böse 2007), and I draw attention to the white governing gaze through which the word choice, speech patterns, dance, and dress of some Black revelers become problematized. While nightclubs did not employ dress codes that excluded traditionally Black cultural forms of dress, such as those identified in previous research in the US (*May 2014; *May and Chaplain 2008), door staff used their interactions with young Black men to remind them to speak, dress, and dance in “acceptably white” (*Bhopal 2018: 29) ways.
This research challenges notions of the neoliberal night (*Hadfield 2014; *Roberts 2009; *Shaw 2015), revealing the ways in which the state police govern “urban nights.” First, in a bid to maintain positive relations with the police, venue managers submitted Temporary Event Notice (TEN) licensing applications to the police if they wanted to host an “urban” night (see also Wicks 2019). In most cases, these applications were not necessary by law, as they did not deviate from the venues already existing license. Second, while the police were otherwise relatively absent from governing the nighttime high street, their presence was noted on “urban” nights with some public order policing tactics employed. The research identifies the shared value systems of the police, door staff, and venue managers who interpret young Black men from London in terms of their gang affiliation. While previous research evidences how door staff establish between upper- and lower-class Black individuals (*May 2014; *Søgaard 2014), I uncover how door staff also focus their efforts on distinguishing between “insiders” (from Greenshire) and “outsiders” (Black individuals from London, Northerners, and “squaddies”).
The Literature
Early studies of nightlife and club cultures painted a picture of the night as a hedonistic space of transgression and violence (*Bennett 2000; *Hobbs et al. 2003; *Muggleton 2000; *Winlow and Hall 2006). Within these studies, little attention was given to the exclusion, marginalization, and criminalization that saturates night spaces. In recent years, a growing body of literature has drawn attention to the marginalization and criminalization of subcultural forms of expression in the UK (*Böse 2005; *Talbot 2007; *Talbot and Böse 2007), and the criminalization of drill and grime music (*Fatsis 2018, 2019; *Ilan 2020). Drill music has frequently been linked to gang violence and knife crime, and in 2021 academics in the UK petitioned against a Policy Exchange Report that linked drill music to youth violence (Kingsley 2021).
Night space is both racialized (*May 2014; *May and Chaplin 2008; *Søgaard 2014, 2017) and classed (*Böse 2005; *Haydock 2014), with Fiona *Measham and Phil Hadfield (2009) drawing attention to the nuances within club cultures and how these are impacted by both “race” and class. Rejecting the language of PLUR (peace, love, unity and respect), the authors reveal how informal processes such as club launches, internet promotions, and dress codes work to exclude electronic dance music of Black origin and its minority ethnic and working-class following from Manchester city center nightclubs and the working class from nightclubs in London's West End. Deborah Talbot's ethnographic study in “Southview,” an anonymous area in the UK, evidenced how police licensing decisions result in the censoring of alternative and racialized nights and nighttime venues. *Talbot (2007) found that license holders who were interpreted by the police as cooperative would be warned of inspections before they would occur. This had a detrimental impact on Black licensees, who were more likely to be interpreted by the police as uncooperative. Martina *Böse (2005) found that Black licensees in Manchester attracted more attention than white licensees, working to earn the support of the police by installing CCTV and turnstiles. I have also demonstrated how the state police conduct informal investigations into Temporary Event Notices to determine the racialized nature of the night-time event which has been applied for (Wicks 2019)
Processes of gentrification have reclaimed nighttime spaces, producing them as spaces for white, affluent clientele (*Hae 2011; *Hankins et al. 2012; *Oloukoï 2018) in various global contexts. “Take Back the Night” marches have taken place in several geographical contexts, traditionally used to draw attention to violence against women at night. Chrystel *Oloukoï (2018) argues that these marches also reveal the ways in the night is reserved for middle-class whites in Jeppestown, South Africa. In nighttime spaces, white privilege casts other racialized embodiments, practices and behaviors as deviant (*Hankins et al. 2012). In some instances, Black individuals have dressed like middle-class whites in order to access nightclubs in the US (*May 2014; *May and Chaplin 2008). Within the UK, the whiteness of provincial spaces is taken as evidence that these areas do not have a “race problem” (*Agyeman and Spooner 1997). This denial of racism is problematic, as the attitudes of (often white) residents in provincial areas impact racialized individuals who either reside in these spaces or visit them (*Agyeman and Spooner 1997; *Neal 2002). bell *hooks (1992) argues that the racialized Other is constantly redefined and reinforced in its difference and marginality from the “white norm.” This can result in hard exclusion (*Samara 2010), or more nuanced systems of belonging and non-belonging (*Agyeman and Spooner 1997; *Tyler 2010) for people of color in these spaces. This article therefore extends from the narrow understanding of racism as a discriminatory act to explore the ways in which the norms of whiteness are maintained at night (*Pulido 2000).
Situated within a white provincial context I have called “Greenshire,” this article contributes to the existing literature in numerous ways. First, the research contradicts previous literature that has uncovered racial and ethnic exclusion at night (*Measham and Hadfield 2009; *Rigakos 2008; *Talbot and Böse 2007) by revealing how commercial thinking is now the driving force behind the inclusion of Black individuals at night. The tensions that arise for policing “urban nights” in a white, provincial space are uncovered. Second, much of the literature on the governance of nightlife has overlooked the significance of whiteness (except for *May 2014), and this research uncovers how door staff use their role to reinstate acceptable whiteness (*Bhopal 2018: 29) at the door and in the nightclub. Third, I uncover the importance of markers of “insiderness” in gaining access to nightlife, with race, accent, and attire acting as markers of “outsiderness.” Black individuals in particular were assessed for their “outsiderness,” due to shared beliefs regarding the potential gang membership of young Black men from London. Finally, by evidencing the autonomy of the state police over the licensing of nightlife, and the tactics used by the state police at “urban nights,” this research challenges long-held conceptions of the neoliberal night (*Hadfield 2014; *Roberts 2009; *Shaw 2015).
Methods
The findings presented in this article stem from my doctoral research, which involved an ethnography in “Greenshire,” an anonymized provincial context in Southern England. The main aim of the research is to uncover how ideas about race and racialized minorities impact the ways in which nightlife is produced, policed, accessed, and experienced. Policing is approached as beyond “what the police do” (*Crawford 2014: 173), and this article engages with the viewpoints and actions of venue managers, door staff, and police officers. In utilizing an ethnographic approach, I immersed myself in a yearlong period of fieldwork in Greenshire in 2018.1 Over the course of the year, 33 nighttime observations took place on both weeknights and weekend nights. These consisted of observing door staff, venue managers, police officers, street pastors, taxi marshals and fast food staff in police nighttime venues and the nighttime high street.
Observations alongside door staff and venue managers at well-known “urban nights” took place at two nightclubs, which I have called Altitude and Monarchy. Altitude held “urban nights” on a weekly basis, while other nighttime venues, including Monarchy, hosted these nights on an infrequent basis. These involved spending time observing door staff and venue managers at work, both on the door and inside nighttime venues. I observed the police govern the nighttime high street on “urban nights” and attended licensing visits with police licensing officers. Throughout these observations, I made mental notes, using moments of quiet to note down small phrases or keywords in a pocketbook, and on returning home I used these to write up full field notes.
Interviews and group discussions with 36 research participants also informed the study. These include 16 interviews with police officers of varying ranks and responsibilities, 10 interviews with venue managers, 6 interviews with door staff, and 4 interviews with street pastors. All the venue managers and door staff who were interviewed had experience of hosting “urban nights.” The interviews were semi-structured in nature and broadly organized around four main themes: my research participants’ understandings of race, past interactions with racialized minorities, experience of race or diversity training, and recommendations for the future policing of nightlife.
I applied critical discourse analysis (CDA) as the analytical framework in my analysis of field notes and interview transcripts. CDA allows the researcher to study the ways in which social-power abuse and inequality are enacted, reproduced, legitimated, and resisted (*van Dijk 2015: 466). Inspired by neo-Marxism and Michel *Foucault (1971), CDA approaches institutions as serving the interests of certain powerful groups and imposing their power on certain individuals (*Mayr 2015: 796). By drawing on CDA, I pay attention to how discourses maintain power, dominance, and inequality between those who police and those who are policed. Traditionally, ethnographers have attempted to navigate and gain access to the “backstage” (*Goffman 1990), as if the “backstage” holds some “reality” or “truth” that other settings do not. This article takes a different approach, by exploring how structural inequalities are maintained through the value systems and thought processes of the research participants. In doing this, I uncover the ways in which the governance of racialized minorities takes place in a range of traditionally “frontstage” and “backstage” contexts, from “the door” and the dance floor, to interviews and discussions throughout the fieldwork.
Greenshire's Nightlife and “Urban Nights”
Greenshire is a wealthy county in Southern England with some pockets of deprivation. Many commuters reside in the area and take advantage of the quick transport links to London. The area is made up of several traditional market towns; some boast several private schools and acres of rural countryside, while others are more densely populated with large shopping centers, cinema complexes, and restaurants. Over 90 percent of residents described themselves as White British in the 2011 census2 (higher than the national figure of 85.4 percent), with a smaller percentage of residents being from Black or minority ethnic backgrounds. The majority of those from Black or minority ethnic minority backgrounds are of Pakistani, Bangladeshi, and Black African origin.3
The reduction in independently owned nighttime venues and alternative nightlife experiences seen in the UK (*Chatterton and Hollands 2002, 2003) has impacted Greenshire's nighttime scene, with most nighttime venues owned by large corporate chains producing “mainstream” experiences. Some venues cater for older clientele through “over 21” entry policies and higher priced drinks, while others encourage younger audiences through their marketing and the promotion of “buy one get one free” offers on cheap drinks. While there was some differentiation in the age of clientele attending each venue, on weekend nights venues tended to cater for a predominantly white, local, and largely heterosexual clientele.
Over the past decade, a marked number of Black students have chosen to study in Greenshire in part due to a university agenda aimed at diversifying the student demographic. There has also been a growth in the popularity of Black music genres such as grime and drill, which have become increasing popular in the UK since the mid-to-late 2010s (*Ilan 2020). In 2019, Stormzy, a Black British grime and hip-hop artist, made history as the first Black British artist to headline at the annual Glastonbury Festival (*Walker 2019). Consequently, Black music genres that have historically been marginalized have now begun to enter the mainstream. Due to the increase in Black students in Greenshire, and the increased popularity of drill and grime, venue managers had begun to host “urban nights” in a bid for their venue to remain popular and as an attempt to increase income. During these nights, DJs played a mixture of drill and grime, as well as hip-hop and R&B music. The clientele at “urban nights” was a mixture of Black African, African-Caribbean, mixed race, and white individuals. Black individuals from London also traveled to Greenshire to attend “urban nights,” particularly when the nightclub was hosting live grime artists.
It is important to pause and reflect on the problematic use of “urban nights,” used by the research participants to refer to nights where Black music subcultures with differing orientations and histories are played (for a brief history of the origins of drill, grime, hip-hop, and rap, see *Fatsis 2018, 2019). The use of this term is an expression and reproduction of certain structures of institutional racism, whereby distinct and different Black music subcultures have been problematically grouped under one heading. In addition, this language also evidences how these nights stood out as deviating from the normative white backdrop of nightlife in Greenshire. As this language was used by the research participants, it has been used reflexively throughout the article.
Hosting “Urban Nights”: Desires and Hypervigilance
Throughout the fieldwork, venue managers expressed a desire to host “urban nights.” Venue managers explained that drill and grime music is becoming increasingly popular with their clientele. Hosting nights where drill and grime are played meant that venues could remain on trend while venue managers could benefit monetarily from the increasing Black student demographic in Greenshire. During an interview with Michael, the marketing manager at Altitude, and Jason, the venue manager at Altitude, they spoke positively of the commercialization of Black music genres and the increase in nonwhite consumers in the nightclub:
Michael: The music we play now is commercialized; radios are playing it more frequently, and at festivals you see more urban people, hip-hop people, they're headlining now. Lots of people are here for it and to be fair, if they are Black, Asian, Chinese, it doesn't matter. I think that's all the better to see them at the club really.
Jason: There are nightclubs now, the big commercial ones, two thousand people plus, they have an urban room, they have that urban room because it's becoming so popular. People love our “urban” night, we get all colors and creeds coming.
Michael and Jason explained that they played a diverse range of music in their nighttime venue and drew on the existence of “urban nights” as evidence of Greenshire's nightlife being contemporary and exciting. Michael notes the increase in “urban” and “hip-hop” people, both at festivals and inside the nightclub in which he works. He draws on a postrace rhetoric (*Tate 2016) to deemphasize the race and ethnicity of the clientele, stating “if they are Black, Asian, Chinese, it doesn't matter.” Yet the racial and ethnic makeup of the audience at “urban nights” was noticeably different to weekend nights, with a significant increase in Black African and Black Caribbean youth.
Michael and Jason also drew on the increased popularity of music associated with Black culture to evidence that nightlife now caters to different racial and ethnic audiences. During his interview, Jason spoke of the change he had witnessed throughout his 30 years as a venue manager at nightclubs in Southern England, stating that many venues now host “urban nights” and have “urban” rooms or floors. Rebecca, the venue manager at Monarchy, spoke of the popularity of grime artists with the student clientele:
The students, they want the association with Wiley, Loxy, Stormzy, Giggs, and so on; they want us to play men who come from where they've come from, i.e., working-class families who possibly live on an estate and have made something of themselves. They've rapped. I think Wiley said six years ago he couldn't get a reload on his song; now he can get whatever he wants—including an MBE.
Previous literature has highlighted how commercial imperatives, articulated in “loss reduction strategies” (*Hadfield 2008; *Measham and Hadfield 2009), have resulted in racial exclusion in the nighttime economy. This research evidences otherwise, by illustrating how “urban nights” are now used as a commercial imperative to help nighttime venues remain popular. Despite venue managers’ desires to host “urban nights,” they were often held infrequently (except for Altitude, which held them weekly), and their ability to go ahead depended almost entirely on the response of police licensing officers. Under the Licensing Act 2003, Temporary Event Notice applications are used to govern nighttime events in England and Wales. These applications are reviewed by the police force, the local council, and others, in line with the licensing objectives (Wicks 2019). By law, TENs must be submitted to the police only if the proposed nighttime events fall outside the remit of the venue's already existing license (see *Home Office 2011). While most of the “urban nights” I observed did not require a TEN, most venue managers submitted TENs for “urban nights” in a bid to maintain good police relations (see Wicks 2019). Rebecca, the venue manager at Monarchy, described a desire to host “urban nights” more regularly during her interview:
I was saying to my boss recently that the university could host these events, but we're a business, so why allow it to go there? I said to him, “I'm telling you; I want to do an “urban night,” and if we don't do it then someone else will. I want to do it here, it's a business, and they are an audience which are here for six months of the year. Let's have their business, let's get with society and build a community.”
Many venue managers had experience of police licensing officers declining their TEN applications for “urban nights.” Consequently, some venue managers no longer attempted to host these nights at all. Others, like Rebecca, were more persistent and managed to host “urban nights” on a more irregular basis. This meant there was little pattern to when or where “urban nights” took place. This article draws attention to how the police force uses TEN applications to govern and marginalize “urban nights,” contributing to the existing literature that has drawn attention to racist and discriminatory police licensing practices (Talbot 2004, 2007, 2011). This article goes further to evidence how venue managers use “urban nights” to appeal to an increased Black student demographic, a finding that contradicts the nightlife literature, which has uncovered the exclusion of racial and ethnic minorities from nightlife (*Hadfield 2008; *Measham and Hadfield 2009). Therefore, venue managers experience a tension in their desire to host “urban nights” and a need to maintain positive police relations, in part due to power of the police in nighttime licensing (Wicks 2019). Those who were successful in hosting “urban nights” often had to evidence how the nights would be adequately policed.
Managing Threat and Protecting White Space
Despite the staging of “urban nights” for Black students, there was a collective assumption that these nights needed to be closely monitored and policed due to the increased numbers of Black clientele. Many police officers, venue managers, and door staff shared this viewpoint throughout the fieldwork. Before “urban nights” started, venue managers called on an enhanced door team to work the door and the dancefloor. Venue managers also operated an informal “all search” policy on “urban nights,” having all nighttime revelers searched at the door before entry. Particular attention was given to items hidden under or within headwear, bags, and pockets. In some cases, Black men were asked to remove headwear to prove that weapons and/or drugs were not concealed underneath. Brian *Puddicombe writes, “to the dominant, not having the ability to ‘see’ the whole ‘Other’ is unbearably defeating” (2011: 5).
The heightened governance of “urban nights” was also predicated in part on managing an assumed tension between white locals and Black consumers. Rebecca, the venue manager at Monarchy, said:
Here, it's very much “we slice our bread this way, we walk this way, we dance this way.” The locals are not open to anything new. Say it's an “urban” night: the students are about and their music comes on, the locals will leave the dancefloor and be like, “Well what is this?” It's the type of place where everyone stops and looks and goes, “Who is that, who are they?” It's very, very insular—very insular indeed.
The use of the pronoun “we” insinuates a commonality between the normative nighttime participant, who, in Rebecca's words, slices their bread, walks, and dances in certain ways. The use of “we” is indicative of a racialized norm, which predicates itself on particular white, local norms of behavior and embodiment at night. Black nighttime participants, who dance and walk in certain ways, appear visible against this white, local norm. Sara Ahmed argues that the noting of racialized minorities “tells us much more about what is already in place than it does about ‘who’ arrives” (cited in *Held 2015: 39). The presence of Black individuals in nighttime venues that have traditionally been reserved for white locals results in disorientation, described as a “dissonance” or “jarring” experienced by the white individuals whose sense of place is disrupted (*Puwar 2004: 42). This resulted in Jason, the venue manager at Altitude, segregating or confining groups of Black consumers to “urban nights”:
Jason: There will be times where we'll knock back people and won't tell them why, but we'll know what the reason is in our heads. You know, four army lads, I'm going to knock them back because, I'm not going to tell them, “Sorry, lads, I'll knock you back because you're in the army,” but I will turn around and say, “Not tonight, lads” because you think that could be a clash. Same as if we had a student night on a Tuesday, it's all 18-, 19-year-olds from the university, and then we might get four Black guys turn up from the city, they will get knocked back, the reason is we don't want … the clash. We turn around and say, “Lads, you want to come to the urban night tomorrow, what are you doing, it's the wrong night tonight.”
Me: You know you said more Black people come to “urban nights,” would you potentially go to 10 white local guys that were trying to get in, “Actually, this isn't going to work”?
Jason: Nah, nah, nah, nah. They'd be fine, we'd let them in. You have to think, “I've seen these people before.”
By segregating and confining Black individuals to “urban nights,” Jason maintains the idea that weekend nights and other nighttime events are not for Black consumers. Through their classification practices, venue managers and door staff reproduced stereotypes, collapsing individuals into certain categories such as “Blacks,” “whites,” “army/squaddies” (see also *Sögaard 2014). The access of Black nighttime participants is assessed based on the perceived risk that they present to the nighttime venue and the experiences of the white nighttime consumers inside, whose access remained unquestioned on the grounds of race. Jason speaks of the “clash” that Black men from London, as well as “army lads,” present to the ambience inside the nighttime venue. In doing this, Jason presents interracial interaction as problematic, issuing Black nighttime participants with reminders to attend on “urban nights.”
The literature has drawn attention to how white working-class groups such as “chavs” in the UK (*Hayward and Yar 2006) and “white trash” in the US (*Hartigan 1997; *Webster 2008) suffer from stereotypes and social exclusion. The exclusion of “army lads” at Altitude is indicative of a “hierarchy of whiteness” (*Webster 2008), where some whites are seen as “less white” than others. During observations, it was noted that venue managers support informal door policies whereby nighttime participants are more likely to be denied access for the following: being Black, having Northern accents, appearing to be laborers (noted through scruffy attire and/or dirty hands), and being in the army. In the UK, army recruitment schemes often target boys from working-class backgrounds in an effort to turn them into “productive” members of society (see *Basham 2016). “Army lads,” “Blacks,” “Northerners,” and laborers shared not only class attributes but also “outsiderness,” being in Greenshire temporarily for work or study. Door staff believed that those who were not from Greenshire needed to be more heavily vetted, as they were more likely to cause trouble. This meant they spent time detecting “outsiders” at the door, paying attention to the nighttime participant's race, ethnicity, accent, and dress. Race was a marker of “outsiderness,” and Black individuals were asked for their IDs so that door staff could determine whether they were from Greenshire or London. Those registered to a London address were more likely to be turned away from nighttime venues due to assumptions about the potential gang affiliations of Black individuals from metropolitan contexts.
Access to nighttime venues is therefore informed by ideas of race and class, as well as ideas of place and belonging. Zygmunt *Bauman (2015) shares that a sense of community is integral to a sense of security. The risk-averse nature of venue managers and door staff means that they actively try to create a sense of familiarity inside the nightclub, with fear projected onto those seen as a threat to the community. Whiteness produced a sense of familiarity, with acceptably white (*Bhopal 2018) consumers less likely to be assessed for their “outsiderness.” The nighttime literature has revealed the hypermasculine characteristics associated with door work, such as toughness and “muscle” (*Hobbs et al. 2003; *Monaghan 2002). Some Black men, laborers, and “army lads” appeared more muscular than some door staff, and their bodies were read in terms of the potential threat they presented to both the venue and those that work there. While Black women were subjected to the same intensive searches on the door, they were not explicitly problematized in conversations with door staff or venue managers. Their gender meant they were less likely to be read as a threat or attached to preexisting stereotypes of the male gang member. In some instances, door staff called on street pastors or friends to deal with their drunkenness, interpreting their behavior in terms of their “excess” (see also Skeggs 2005).
Door Staff: Producing White, Local, and Cultural Modes of Acceptability
Contrary to existing research, which has drawn attention to the ways in which commercial imperatives fuel the exclusion of Black and ethnic minority consumers (*Hadfield 2008; *Measham and Hadfield 2009), this article presents a novel finding in evidencing how commercial thinking is now the driving force behind venues hosting “urban nights.” Black individuals are no longer a risk to profit accumulation but are a potential source of profit-making for venues—with “urban nights” strategically used as part of venue manager's efforts to remain popular among the mainstream. Hosting “urban nights” enhances the venues’ popularity and caters to the increasing Black student demographic in Greenshire who are presumed to want to attend these nights. At the same time, the presence of Black individuals in a traditionally white space disorientates those who reside there and/or have a responsibility for policing nighttime venues. This section explores how door staff are left responsible for managing the assumed increased risk present on “urban nights.”
Much of the nighttime literature has revealed the importance of the “door” for the assessment of nighttime participants (*Hobbs et al. 2003; *O'Brien 2009; *Preiser 2016), with recent literature drawing attention to the ways in which race is intrinsic to social sorting practices and exclusion at the door (*Measham and Hadfield 2009; *Rigakos 2008; *Søgaard 2014, 2017). I build on this literature to draw attention to the white gaze of door staff and the impact this has on the governance of Black consumers. I interrogate the contradictions present in the staging of “urban nights” “for” Black nighttime consumers, while these individuals are reminded that their access in one of continual negotiation. Black individuals can have, or present themselves to have, particular modes of dress and bodily comportment that increase their access to “urban nights” in Greenshire (see also *May 2014). I explore the ways in which these modes are informed by white, local norms of acceptability and the impact this has on the governance of both the door and inside the nightclub.
Body Language, Speech Patterns, and Word Choice
Throughout the fieldwork, door staff problematized young Black men for having an “attitude.” Kenny shared:
Kenny: They're much more street, much more gangster than a Saturday night. If they turn up being rude to me, I'll be rude back; at the end of the day respect works both ways, so if you can't turn up somewhere, all you've got to say is “evening.” If you turn up (walks with his arms out wide to the side of his body, leans in the opposite direction in a “bowling” fashion, and says in a low voice, “I want to come in”), if you have that attitude at the front door, then what's that attitude going to be when someone bumps into you in the club? As a door man, you don't get to sit there and think about it for an hour; you have to make the decision. I see it mostly from the Blacks, because I don't know if it's a gangster thing, but we definitely see it more from them … the attitude.
Me: How would you describe that attitude?
Kenny: It's body language and sayings; a lot of their sayings I don't understand. They might have a different meaning for something that I have a meaning for, so if they're saying something I'll say, “Boys, I don't know what you mean, so you either tell me what's going on, because I need to know what's going on, let's chill, relax.” It's their attitude; it's nothing to do with their skin color. It doesn't matter who turns up, but if you turn up and you've got attitude already, before you've even got in the venue, why?
Kenny problematizes the body language, word choice, and linguistic style of Black men, stating these are indicative of an “attitude.” Kenny draws on discursive deracialization techniques (*Augoustinos 2007: 133), omitting the importance of the race of nighttime participants, stating these have “nothing to do with their skin color.” However, when forms of embodiment and behavior differ from the white, local normative benchmark, they are attached to the preexisting institutionalized mental model (*van Dijk 1993: 99) of Black male gang membership (*Williams 2015; *Williams and Clarke 2016). *Teun van Dijk (1993) explains that institutionalized mental models refer to socially shared mental representations and knowledge, seen in shared social scripts as well as general opinions, attitudes, and ideological systems that organize attitudes (such as sexism and racism). Throughout the fieldwork, the police, door staff, and venue managers shared a mental model of young Black metropolitan male gang membership and viewed Black men through a white gaze, assessing them for differences in their body language, word choice, and speech patterns. While this assessment also took place outside the nighttime economy (and was primarily upheld by the state police), it had impacts on Black men who were more likely to be turned away from accessing some nighttime venues on these grounds. On other occasions, the speech and bodily movements of some Black men, depicted by Kenny, were read as rude and disrespectful of authority and evidence that they needed to be “kept an eye on” once inside the venue.
Door staff spoke of the need to be efficient in making decisions about nighttime participants at the door (*Hobbs et al. 2003, *Winlow and Hall 2006) and this led to the reproduction of stereotypes through racist classification practices (*Søgaard 2014). Toby, the head of door staff at Altitude, said:
You have to make a judgment on that front door, and I always say you have three seconds to make it: you look at someone, and you have three seconds before you say something; whether that's you're not coming in or not, you have to make that judgment call. You're there to perform a really brief risk assessment, and it doesn't matter who they are really, if you think they're going to cause trouble, then don't let them in, because from our point of view it's much easier to stop the trouble on the front door rather than think you'll take the risk and let them in and then you've got a big fight inside.
Decisions to provide nighttime participants with access had to be made speedily to keep night club queues moving. The literature evidences how the door is a crucial place in setting the tone for inside the venue, with door staff drawing on a “safety first” attitude in their decisions (*Hobbs et al. 2003: 121). In the quote above, Toby speaks of a “brief risk assessment” that is made on the door, similar to Thomas *Søgaard (2017), who found door staff tested ethnic minority nighttime participants for their “attitude.” During the fieldwork, door staff were more attentive to the body language of Black consumers, problematizing Black men who “bowled” (*Urban Dictionary 2011) and noticing a lack of eye contact and hand gestures such as fist bumping. Door staff also paid attention to their word choice and speech patterns, remaining suspicious about Black consumers who used words that they were unaware of.
Young Black men who used words and speech patterns that door staff did not understand (some words noted during observations included dis, snatched, shade, and feds) would suffer from several further “tests” in a bid to gain access to the venue. Door staff would ask a series of questions, asking them where they had traveled from, where they had been before, and who they were out with in a bid to keep them at the door, where they could further assess them for indicators of potential deviancy. Their answers to these questions were also incredibly important. If the Black individual indicated they were from London or were out with a group of Black individuals from London, then they were more likely to be declined access to the venue due to beliefs regarding the potential gang affiliations of Black individuals from the city. While Rueben Budford *May (2014) and *May and Kenneth Chaplin (2008) found that Black individuals who dress like whites are more likely to be afforded access to nighttime venues in the US, this research goes further to evidence how their embodiments and word choices are incredibly important in dissipating suspicions of door staff and affording them access.
Throughout the fieldwork, Black individuals would sometimes challenge the door team and accuse them of racism. Toby, the head of the door team at Altitude, drew attention to his “multicultural door team” when this happened:
You'll be there and you'll show them. The door team at Altitude consists of door men who are Polish, Romanian, Nigerian, and South African. It's a very multicultural door team, and you'll point that out to them. If you're throwing them out or refusing them service, then you're a racist.
Most of the door teams governing nighttime venues were white and British. A small number of ethnic minority men who governed the doors were predominantly white; these included men from Poland, Lithuania, and Romania. Black door staff were more likely to be called on to govern “urban nights,” with these nights governed by a mixture of white British, Black, and ethnic minority door staff. There was an informal understanding that Black door staff would deal with disputes raised by ethnic minority clientele in a bid to reduce accusations of racism. Door staff therefore prepared themselves for accusations of racism on “urban nights,” with the visible diversity of the door team working these nights used as evidence that the practices employed by door staff are not racist. Despite the differing ethnicities and nationalities of door staff, “urban nights” experienced hypervigilant policing techniques that were upheld by door staff irrespective of their race, ethnicity, or nationality. Most door staff shared racist and discriminatory viewpoints, describing Black individuals in terms of their deviancy and “attitude.” I argue therefore that ethnic minority door staff adhere to “whiteliness” (*Reddy 1998), sharing a social and political view akin to the white, local door staff that they worked alongside. Maureen Reddy writes: “Learning ‘whiteness’ is how various immigrant groups initially defined as ‘other’ by the white majority … become white. Whiteliness is learned and can therefore be unlearned, it can be engaged in by people who are not white and rejected by those who are” (1998: 1).
Dress
Previous literature has drawn attention to the ways in which dress codes are used to exclude Black nighttime participants from venues in the US (*May 2014; *May and Chaplin 2008). In Greenshire, dress codes did not explicitly discriminate against Black-inspired styles of dress, as venues aimed to appear welcoming to all. This research contributes to the literature by evidencing how racialized forms of dress are informally governed by door staff, who used their interactions with young Black men to reaffirm heteronormative and white ways of dressing at night. Toby shared:
It's very popular for males to wear their trousers hanging down below their bum, which is more in Black and minority ethnic groups, so that's kind of the thing now. A lot of people seem to do it, don't they, I think, but in America I thought in prison that means that you are that way inclined, doesn't it? I point it out to some of them sometimes … and they're like, “Nah, nah, it's part of my image,” I'm like (rolls eyes), “OK.”
During observations, door staff made homophobic “jokes” with Black men wearing low-rise jeans, saying this meant they were “that way inclined.” Door staff would ensure Black men had pulled their jeans up before allowing them entry to nighttime venues, with the nighttime participant often lowering their jeans once they were inside the nightclub. Some door staff would enter the nightclub and ask Black men to pull their pants up as an indicator of respect. Black men were also more likely than their white counterparts to wear tracksuits, with door staff often declining their access due to the venue's dress code policy. Black men frequently replied to these incidents by outlining the brand and expense spent on the tracksuit, appealing to economic forms of capital (*Bourdieu 1986) to gain access to the club. However, their race masked any indicators of economic capital, and they were reminded that to gain entry they needed to dress smartly.
Dance Styles
Despite venue managers reminding Black individuals to attend “urban nights,” once at the door, these individuals were assessed for their accent, word choices, body language, and dress. I argue that Black nighttime participants are assessed at the door for their ability to perform in acceptably white ways (*Bhopal 2018), even on “urban nights” that are inspired by Black music cultures. This sometimes resulted in Black individuals changing their dress, body language, or word choice at the door in a bid to gain access to the venue. This section reveals how those who enter the venue hold onto aspects of their Blackness once inside, through the dance styles displayed and the music played. On “urban nights,” the styles of dance displayed by nighttime participants were different to those performed on weeknights. Some nighttime participants popped, locked, and break-danced, displaying dance styles traditionally associated with UK drill music (see *DRILLR TV 2018; *Urban Dictionary 2019). Black nighttime participants were observed drawing on these dance styles more regularly, with some white nighttime participants also exhibiting similar styles on the dance floor. Door staff interpreted dance styles displayed on “urban nights” as more likely to lead to the escalation of violence inside the venue, due to the physical contact with others and the perceived aggressiveness of the dance style.
During observations, Black revelers who were dancing using their full body were told to “calm down” by door staff, sometimes resulting in challenges from the nighttime participant who would ask door staff to leave them alone and say they were doing nothing wrong. This meant that door staff provoked the behavior that the Black nighttime participants were initially suspected of (*Hall et al. 1978: 41), and they were asked to leave the nighttime venue. In some instances, door staff walked through large groups of Black revelers displaying UK drill dance styles in an attempt to disperse them. This is evidence of “compulsory integration” (*Søgaard 2014: 47) tactics used by door staff, who worked to prevent Black nighttime revelers from dancing in large groups with other Black individuals. This finding presents a critique of previous nighttime literature that has been focused on the exclusion of ethnic minorities (*Hadfield 2008; *Measham and Hadfield 2009) by revealing how access to venues is one of continual negotiation for Black nighttime consumers throughout their night. Black consumers were reminded to dance less expressively and in smaller groups and were threatened with being, or were, kicked out of the venue due to concerns that violence would break out. While some white nighttime participants exhibited the same dance styles, these did not arouse the same level of concern in door staff. Whiteness provided an invisibility that meant white nighttime consumers benefitted from dancing in ways that they wanted to.
The above three sections have drawn attention to the tensions which arise from venues hosting “urban nights” “for” Black consumers, whilst their performances and embodiments of Blackness are closely monitored by door staff. Black revelers are policed for forms of embodiment, speech, performances, and practices that are not characteristically white and local, and their access to, and enjoyment of, nightlife is one of negotiation and renegotiation throughout the night.
“We Were Overrun, We Were Outnumbered, It Was Scary”
Much of the recent nightlife literature has tended to engage with the perspectives and actions of door staff and venue managers (*May 2014; *May and Chaplain 2008; *Rigakos 2008, *Søgaard 2014, 2017), while police perspectives and governance of racialized nighttime events remain relatively unexplored. This section interrogates the police perception of “urban nights” and reveals how these are governed by the police themselves. This research critiques the idea of the neoliberal night (*Hadfield 2014; *Roberts 2009; *Shaw 2015) by drawing attention to the power of the state police over nighttime licensing, resulting in the marginalization of “urban” nights (Wicks 2019). Police officers had noted the increase in Black individuals in the nighttime economy and the increase in venues hosting “urban nights.” Scott, a police licensing officer, revealed:
We have a higher proportion of the Black community now in the nighttime economy than we did when I first joined the job 13 years ago. More venues are putting on events that cater for the Black community, and the demographic of the university is much higher Black and ethnic minority than it ever was.
“Urban nights” were noted in terms of their difference from weekend nights, described as much busier and more violent. The following discussion with police constables is revealing of this:
Lisa: When they come down for urban nights, they've got their own little groups of, say, not just 3 mates but 15 or 20. It won't be 2 people fighting and shaking hands … it'll be groups of 15 and 20 all getting involved.
Julie: They draw a much bigger crowd, a very big crowd; you've got people coming from the city, from the student campuses, because it's a big night. Suddenly the town is full of people, and it's a big risk because you've got the risk of escalated violence and mob mentality.
In a similar vein to door staff and venue managers, police officers also linked “urban nights” to gang culture. Door staff, venue managers, and police officers shared the mental model (*van Dijk 1993: 99) of young Black male metropolitan gang membership, with young Black men often interpreted in terms of their potential gang affiliation. Police licensing officers oversaw the licensing of nighttime events, and many told venue managers that they needed to manage the “gang” risk present on “urban nights.” Adam, a police sergeant in charge of licensing decisions, revealed:
We definitely say to venue managers, what measures are you going to put in place for that event? Can we do anything policing wise to support that “urban” night? But we wouldn't start asking about the ethnicity of the audience or performer.
Previous research has evidenced the power the state police have in licensing decisions in the UK (Wicks 2019), and venue managers showed an increased awareness of abiding by police rules in a bid to retain their license. Police officers denied the significance of the racialized makeup of these nighttime events in their assessment of risk, drawing on police intelligence on “gangs” to legitimize the increased governance of “urban nights.” Police intelligence was presented as objective, factual, and unable to be racist or discriminatory. Yet the literature has drawn attention to the ways in which police intelligence is used to ascribe the “gang” label to groups of ethnic minority young men, “defining out” violence by white youth (*Williams 2015; *Williams and Clarke 2016).
One incident of policing of an “urban night” remained firm in the minds of police officers and was used to reinforce the collective police mindset that the police needed to closely monitor “urban nights.” On this night, the police had been called by fast food workers and residents who complained of the large number of Black individuals in the nighttime high street. Darren, the police sergeant in charge, shared the following during his interview:
It was after an “urban night,” there were groups of Black males and females, all sort of early, mid-twenties, white people too. They were going up to McDonald's, pushing through the doors, and they only had four door staff on McDonald's. We were looking at offences of affray, potential violence; people were just pushing through and threatening the staff in there. We had to shut the store. I was being ignored completely. Here, verbal communication and presence alone is [usually] enough to get people to go, “OK, we'll do this or that,” but people weren't listening. They'd come from the city, and I have friends who police there; they say people don't listen, it's different there. We police by consent here, and it's quite alien for Greenshire to suddenly go, “Well, no one is listening to us or doing anything at all.” I had my entire team there, which is unheard of. We started employing basic public order tactics, which is serious; we had firearms coming too, and a dog handler came down for us. We were overrun, we were outnumbered, it was scary.
Large numbers of Black individuals were interpreted as a threat to the general order and security of nightlife, resulting in Darren calling on police officers from numerous towns to manage the perceived threat. The academic literature has drawn attention to the significance of police storytelling in animating the danger of policing (*Billington et al. 1991; *Chan 1996; *Punch 1979). Throughout the fieldwork, the McDonald's incident became a “trope” that was shared among police officers, reaffirming the police view that Black revelers and “urban nights” are a threat to the order of Greenshire. Darren's pattern of talk, initially describing nighttime participants as Black, followed by “white people too” is indicative of his increased awareness around the language of race. However, these white nighttime participants quickly become invisible, and threat and deviance are attached only to the Black nighttime participants. They are described as different because they “don't listen,” with Darren indicating that policing approaches in metropolitan contexts are different from Greenshire's approach of policing by consent.
Henri *Lefebvre argues that spaces are “determined by what may not take place there” (2002: 224). Within police accounts of this “urban night,” Black nighttime participants were essentialized as disrespectful of authority and pushing their luck in interactions with the police and were constructed as better suited to London, the city in which they were perceived to have come from. London is produced as a Black space, against the invisible white, local cultural norm of Greenshire. Katherine *Hankins and colleagues write, “racialized places serve to maintain hegemonic conceptualizations of whiteness by constantly constructing the feared non-white place and reciprocal identity, to which the idealized white space (and identity) can be juxtaposed” (2012: 383). This had real effects on the way in which nighttime revelers were policed on this night, with public order tactics drawn on to manage the perceived threat of Black individuals. While a small number of arrests were made, these were for minor offences and did not result in convictions. Shirley Tate argues that racism's invisible touch often leaves a mark through contact and the stirring of emotion, demonstrated in particular when Darren describes this incident as “scary.” *Tate writes, “what is interesting about the use of fear is that it reproduces the white self as under threat, the victim who has been affectively and materially touched by the need to keep the touch of the Black other at a distance” (2016: 81).
Final Reflections
This article presents several novel findings. While drill music continues to be criminalized in the UK (*Fatsis 2019; *Ilan 2020), this research uncovers the ambivalence toward nighttime events where drill, grime, rap, and hip-hop are played. Venue managers express desire to host “urban nights” while at the same time operating informal door policies that segregate Black nighttime consumers to these nights. This article has outlined the impact of this ambivalence on door staff, who are entrusted as the main gatekeepers of the nighttime venue. I also extend on previous work that explores the policing of racialized venues and licensees in city spaces (*May 2014; *Rigakos 2008, *Søgaard 2014, 2017; *Talbot 2007, 2011; *Talbot and Böse 2007) to provide a space to think about how those who govern the night respond to an increase in Black consumers in a white, provincial space. Revealing of the collective mindset through which young Black men from London are interpreted in terms of their deviancy, this research did not intend to look at the differences between those with a responsibility for governance. Instead, this article exposes the shared value system of the deviancy of young Black men from city centers, upheld by governing actors of different ethnic backgrounds—challenging the notion that white spaces do not have a “race problem” (*Agyeman and Spooner 1997) and that the diversification of staff leads to a reduction in racism.
At present, an increased number of universities in the UK are driving recruitment policies to encourage a more “diverse” student base (*AdvanceHE 2020), with more students of color attending university than ever before (*UCAS 2020). Black individuals experience a tension, on the one hand being encouraged to attend university and “urban” nights, while on the other, suffering hypervigilant and discriminatory policing practices. By speaking with these individuals, we would be informed about the diverse ways in which nightlife is experienced and would be provided with an insight into how governance is navigated. The intertwinement of race and gender clearly informs policing practice. It is primarily young Black men who are problematized by those who govern nightlife, and the ways in which gender intertwines with race in police understandings of deviancy is an area for future exploration.
Acknowledgments
I am grateful for the detailed comments I received on earlier versions of this article when it was a PhD chapter-particularly from Ben Pitcher and Adam Eldridge. I would like to thank Sarah Charman for steering me in the right direction and Emily Nicholls for her initial reflections and continual support. Finally, thank you to the University of Westminster, who provided me with a studentship so that I could complete my doctoral research.
Notes
This research has been given ethical clearance from the University of Westminster, reference no. ETH1617-0571. The police force, participants, and venues contained within have been anonymized using pseudonyms, and all participants have given informed consent to take part in the research.
The data provided have been taken from the most recent census in 2011. More in-depth sociodemographic details cannot be provided in order to ensure the research area remains anonymous.
The racial categorization and language used are reflections of the same language used in the 2011 census for England and Wales.
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